


Smarties

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-22
Updated: 1999-04-22
Packaged: 2018-11-10 23:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: After "Odds". Fraser does some thinking.





	Smarties

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Smarties  
 **Smarties**

by Jaime   
Arundel

***

Fraser does some thinking. not really explicit;  
slash warning.  
takes place after "Odds," but in a different universe  
from  
"CotW." the characters belong to Alliance; Smarties  
belong  
to Rowntree, i think, although they've probably been  
bought out by  
some bigger corporation. heavens only  
knows who the red dye belongs  
to ... some pharmaceutical  
company probably.

inspired by recent  
discussion in thecloset. thanks, y'all.

comments welcome. send  
'em to j_arundel@hotmail.com.

***

It's late. Or perhaps it's early. The  
case has been wrapped  
up, and now I'm back in the Consulate. Alone  
again.  
Everyone else is at home ... or in gaol. I'm still wearing  
Jack  
Huey's tuxedo. As I unwind the cummerbund, I can  
feel how tired I  
am, how my arms ache from the weight of  
her.

Stripping down  
to my boxers, I hang the tuxedo in my  
closet, thankfully just a closet  
tonight, and close the door.  
The Consulate's completely empty at  
this time of night, and  
too warm, as usual. I press both hands into  
the base of my  
spine and stretch.

The bag of Smarties sits  
by itself in the centre of my desk, a  
silent reminder of the evening.

I  
tip half the bag out on the top of my desk, sweeping aside  
a stack  
of file folders to do so. Dief whines at me, eyes  
growing bigger as  
he sees the size of the heap. I sit in the  
desk chair, idly sorting  
them into individual piles, one for  
each colour. I can still feel  
her behind me, her strong  
fingers plying the muscle groups of my back;  
she'd been  
knowledgeable about that, as she had about cards.

Funny  
how some people come to think that because they  
can read one game,  
they can read them all.

The bag was very full and my heaps are  
getting quite large  
now. Dief has managed to lay his muzzle on the  
desk,  
drooling all over my desk blotter. I flick a finger at him and  
he  
jerks his head back all of a centimetre. Very little  
distracts Dief  
from anything edible, especially anything  
sweet.

Edible and  
sweet. They're terms some men would apply to  
her, but only if they  
were too stupid to realize that anything  
that sweet has to be dangerous.  
Dangerous and habit-  
forming, for those who're susceptible.

I  
start to flatten my piles into long, curving rows. The  
Smarties shine  
dully in the light of my desk lamp. I have  
plenty of each colour and  
there are some I don't need at all.  
Dief sighs as I push a half dozen  
of the brown ones towards  
him. A snap, crunch, swallow and they're  
gone already. I  
don't give him more because chocolate   
contains  
theobromine, an alkaloid which can sometimes cause  
anaphylactic  
reactions in dogs. Given how much chocolate  
Dief's eaten in his three  
and a half years in Chicago, I can't  
imagine him developing a problem  
now. Still better to be  
safe than sorry.

I snicker. There are  
hands on my back again, long, knowing  
fingers tracing the length of  
the muscles, finding and  
releasing knots I hadn't even realized were  
there. She'd  
been so good at that, so determined.

Funny how  
concerned Kowalski was; he really seemed to  
think that I was falling  
for her. He should have known  
she's not my type. If anything, I'd  
have thought she was  
more his. I was a little surprised that he seemed  
more  
interested in me than in her. I hope nothing's going on  
there.  
Ray K's ripe to fall, I think, as lonely as I've been these  
last months,  
and I'd rather not be the one to cause him pain.  
More pain.

God  
knows I've caused him enough, one way or another.  
And I like him,  
I really do. He's an interesting person and  
he is, despite himself,  
a good police officer. Still, I'd have  
thought Lady Shoes was more  
his type.

The hands move up to my shoulders, kneading into the  
tense  
muscles there. I can still feel her weight hanging, first  
from one  
arm, then from the other. I didn't drop her, of  
course, and if I've  
a few strained muscles from holding her  
like that, well, some would  
say I deserved it. It wasn't a  
very nice thing to do to her, after  
all.

She didn't want me, you know. Even though she kissed me.  
Even though she rubbed my back and tried to bed me.

That  
close to me, and wearing only my old red long-johns,  
I'd have known  
if she'd been aroused. And she wasn't.  
The backrub, the sex on offer,  
they were only early moves  
in the game she was playing. A way to keep  
upping the  
ante, until she had me firmly hooked.

She wanted  
to use me, and she was gambling on the price  
she would have to pay  
to do it. I made it easy for her ... and  
then found that I wanted  
to make her pay for it, after all. A  
little adrenaline, that was all  
it was, really. There was never  
any possibility that I would actually  
drop her. Am I really  
learning to bluff? Maybe.

The fingers  
move up to that place where the base of my  
skull meets the back of  
my neck. Strong, knowing,  
familiar. I groan.

The Smarties are  
all in order now, six parallel sweeps of  
colour, a chocolate rainbow.

A  
hand reaches over my shoulder, snags a red Smartie  
between long elegant  
fingers. That voice in my ear now  
"I always eat the red one's *first*  
but I suck them   
*very*  
slowly."

I turn, feeling my breath catch at the sight  
of that red-coated  
candy being sucked very slowly indeed between mobile  
lips,  
stained near crimson from the dye.

"Ray," I say, and turn into  
his arms.

He lifts me, strong as ever despite his leanness, lays  
me  
down on my desk. There'll be a rainbow coloured tattoo  
across  
my back when I finally get up, but I don't care as I  
long as I can  
feel the touch of his hands on me. His lips  
press a kiss over my left  
nipple and he giggles briefly as he  
surveys the red-dyed imprint of  
his lips on my chest.

He shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous  
a game he's  
playing. But he can't keep away, and I can't make him,  
though  
I never know when he'll come, or from where.

I spread my legs  
and welcome him home. My torso slides  
on the slick surface of the  
desk as he enters me, and  
Smarties cascade onto the floor.

Dief  
munches contentedly.

"Ray," I say again, gasping at the feel of  
him, strong and  
silent and here. He bends his mouth to mine, and I  
taste  
candy and chocolate and him.

I love   
Smarties.

 

Return to Due South Fiction  
Archive


End file.
